


Little Sparrow, How Round Your Middle!

by FelixPhial



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Aunt/Niece Incest, Birth Torture, Childbirth, Cunnilingus, F/F, F/M, Female Rapist, Femdom, Forced Pregnancy, Fpreg, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, Implied/Referenced Incest, Magical Pregnancy, Pregnancy, Victim Treated Like Lover, birth denial, graphic birth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-13 21:15:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28909929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FelixPhial/pseuds/FelixPhial
Summary: After a year as a statue, Corvo discovers a lot has changed.
Relationships: Corvo Attano & Emily Kaldwin, Corvo Attano/Delilah Copperspoon, Delilah Copperspoon/Emily Kaldwin
Comments: 1
Kudos: 14
Collections: Bulletproof 20/21





	Little Sparrow, How Round Your Middle!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [StormyDaze](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StormyDaze/gifts).



Corvo knew he’d been encased in marble; what he didn’t know was for how long. He’d only just processed what was happening to him when it was being undone again. It had been a shock to find the throne room dark, cold, and empty—except, of course, for Delilah. It was as if he’d blinked a little too long, and he’d opened his eyes to find an eclipse. Delilah stood before him still, but her hair and clothing were different. She was wearing a crown now, and she’d mixed Jessamine’s finest silks with her own creepy leathers and furs.

“As promised, my darling niece. Your father.”

Delilah stepped back, and Corvo felt gravity rush at him all at once after his long suspension. He collapsed onto his knees, gasping as if he hadn’t breathed in hours, days, weeks. 

The throne room was in, if possible, even more disarray than when he’d been encased. The guests had vanished. Vines and bloody runes covered the walls; broken glass and other detritus covered the floor. Fires burned in containers around the room, and there was no other light except for the faint glow from the paintings. Jessamine’s portrait still hung on a banner behind the throne, but an X had been painted in red over her mouth and each eye.

“Father?” 

To Corvo, it had only been seconds earlier that Emily’s strong voice had shouted that same word, sent it ringing through the throne room. He scarcely recognized her voice now. It was so small that he was afraid to turn, afraid he’d find her starved to a skeleton, missing half her limbs, turned back into a ten-year-old. He turned anyway, unable to bear not seeing her… and instead found the opposite of his expectations.

Emily’s arms and face were thinner, but her belly was massive. It bore the unmistakable roundness of pregnancy, the same shape as Jessamine’s had been when she’d carried Emily. She wore nothing but the ivy and vines that seemed to crawl sentiently across her breasts and stomach and sex. A massive iron collar had been welded around her neck, and a heavy chain linked the shackle to her throne. Corvo eyed the chain’s distance and realized the cruelty of Delilah’s gesture: Emily could kneel before her throne, but she couldn’t sit on it. 

Emily’s long black hair cascaded over her full breasts. Jessamine had always hated wearing her hair up, but not Emily. Emily had always said she felt naked with her hair down, and she normally braided it before bed rather than sleeping on it loose. Corvo fretted briefly that the long, loose strands must be irritating her, ‘itching her,’ as she’d complained when she was young, before he realized they both had much bigger things to worry about. Dead flowers and poisonous buds had been lovingly woven into a skinny braid falling across her left cheek. Corvo’s eyes followed the strands past her pushed-out navel, past the runes painted in what looked like blood on her hips, past the ribbon securing the braid that rested on Emily’s thigh. His chest spasmed with dread at that sight—only last night, when he’d brushed her hair out to for her, the ends had scarcely brushed her elbows.

“She looks beautiful, doesn’t she?” Delilah’s fingers grazed the back of Corvo’s neck, making him shudder. “You’re just in time to watch—assuming I don’t change my mind and keep denying her.” 

Emily made a noise like a whine, a noise Corvo hadn’t heard in nearly a decade. He blinked the last of the marble-sleep from his eyes and straightened on his knees.

“What month is it?” he croaked.

“The Month of Earth, of course,” Delilah said, but something about the way she said it gave him pause.

“What year?”

Delilah smirked. “1853.”

Corvo’s head spun. His resolve and shoulders both crumpled. He’d lost an entire year. Emily was pregnant. What horrors had Delilah inflicted on her? Which man—or, Outsider forbid, _men—_ had she allowed to hurt Emily? He flexed his fingers into fists, willing strength back into them so he could avenge Emily.

But before he could do so, Emily screamed in pain. The adrenaline jerked Corvo upright again as if he were a marionette. She was doubled over, rocking back and forth on her knees as she held her belly.

“Oh, little Sparrow!” Delilah cooed, abandoning Corvo to sit on Emily’s throne. She tugged on the chain, forcing Emily’s cheek to her knee. “The pain must be unimaginable. Tell me how it hurts.”

“I feel like I’m dying,” Emily said. “Please, Mother, it’s been days. I’ve done everything you’ve asked of me. Please let me give birth, Mother, have mercy, please…”

Delilah pet Emily’s hair. “You have been very good, my sweet darling. The problem is that you’re simply too irresistible to stop hurting.”

Emily groaned in despair, even as the tautness along her naked belly eased.

“Shh,” Delilah said, without any real conviction. “If you’re going to cry, you know how I like you to do it.”

Emily shifted on her knees as Delilah spread her thighs wide for her. She unzipped the inner seam of Delilah’s trousers, lowered her head to her pussy, and dutifully lapped at her aunt while making little pained noises. Corvo watched in horror—a horror that doubled when he felt his own trousers grow snug. 

“Please,” Emily murmured every few moments. “Please, Mother, let me birth your baby.”

Corvo inched nearer to the throne. He tried not to look at Emily’s perfectly rounded backside, tried not to remember Jessamine’s body at that stage of her pregnancy with Emily, and especially tried not to remember how aroused she’d been all the time. Delilah made no move to stop Corvo. As he reached the dais, he stretched out one arm to try to touch Emily, and she flinched.

“I know you’re wondering, Lord Protector,” Delilah said in amusement, “and yes, I do hit your daughter. Quite often, in fact.”

She yanked Emily up by the hair, slapped her hard across the face, and then released her hold on her.

Emily took a moment to catch her breath, but once she’d found it, she merely said, “Thank you, Mother,” before resuming licking Delilah.

“And abuse her in other ways, it seems.” Corvo hoped he looked as disgusted as he felt. “Who’s the baby’s father? Do you even know?”

“Of course I know!” Delilah laughed haughtily. “Sparrow, would you be so kind as to tell your father whose baby is inside you?”

Emily raised her head just enough to speak, looking reluctant. “Yours, Mother.”

Delilah stroked her hair again. “That’s right. And do you enjoy suffering for me, dearest?”

Another contraction surged visibly through Emily like an electrical current, and she cried out in pain. “Yes, Mother, I enjoy everything you do to me!”

“Good girl.” Delilah leaned back in her stolen throne. “You may lick me again.”

Still rigid with her latest contraction, Emily dutifully returned her tongue to Delilah’s cunt. Her little noises of pain were muffled by her aunt’s folds, and judging by Delilah’s expression, that was exactly as she preferred it.

Starting to realize how completely out of his depth he was, Corvo inched still closer to his daughter.

“Are you stopping Emily from giving birth somehow?” he asked Delilah.

“Oh, yes. I find her so much prettier when she’s crying and begging. Desperation is a good look on her, don’t you think?”

“How are you doing it?”

Delilah gestured lazily to a portrait of Emily on an easel. Her other hand petted Emily’s long hair, guiding her tongue. Corvo stared at the portrait. Emily was even more nude in the painting due to the lack of leaves and vines, and her face was contorted in clear anguish. And, as Corvo squinted, he noticed what looked like silver stitches sealing Emily’s birth canal shut.

_Witchcraft._

“Why did you bring me back?”

“So suspicious!” Delilah complained. “I know we’re strangers to each other, but must you really assume the worst about me? Perhaps I brought you back as a favor to our dear Emily, so you can help support her in her time of need. We are family, after all! We’re both linked by blood to sweet little Emily.”

Corvo stared at her, unblinking.

“Very well,” Delilah chuckled. “I admit, I did want another audience member for Emily’s difficult birthing. And who better than her loving father, the failed Royal Protector? Yes, Emily has begged and bargained every day of her captivity for your release, so when today she suddenly changed her tune and begged me _not_ to release you, I knew it was time.”

Corvo was taken aback. “You didn’t want me here?” he asked softly.

Emily ignored him, or perhaps Delilah had ordered her not to respond to him.

“Oh, yes.” Delilah was practically purring with pleasure. “For some reason, she’s gotten it into her head that you won’t love her anymore if you see her birth a ‘monster.’ Silly girl. I can’t imagine where she got such an idea.”

Corvo could imagine. “Do you want me to stay, Emily?”

“Well?” Delilah asked her.

Emily raised up slowly, her head tilting ever so slightly to the left. It was the head-tilt she did when staring at a difficult assignment for Callista, a complex trade agreement, a tricky hand in _Nancy._

“Your pleasure is my own,” she said at last. “The pain is so strong I have little will of my own anymore, Mother.”

Delilah beamed and stroked Emily’s cheek. “Thank you, Darling. I think your father can stay a bit longer, in that case. Corvo, approach the throne. I want you to truly see your daughter.”

Corvo did so, letting Delilah beckon him closer until he could touch Emily if he reached out. He bowed stiffly but very low, because it was Emily to whom he was truly bowing. 

“Very good, Corvo,” Delilah said. “You know, that gives me an idea…”

 _Finally,_ Corvo thought, _perhaps she’ll reveal the real reason she brought me back._

“As much as I enjoy watching our dear little Emily suffer, all good things must come to an end,” she said. “But I don’t want to end it too soon. We ought to do something special, something only our lovely little family could do.”

“What do you propose, Your Majesty?” Corvo asked, forcing himself not to choke on the last word.

“Seeing as how I have already fucked Emily in every hole—and then some—in this throne room, it seems only fitting to me that you do the same,” Delilah said.

Emily went rigid. She recovered quickly, but Delilah noticed it as well.

“Do you like that idea, Emily?” she asked. “You and your father will make love while I watch, and then I’ll allow you to give birth.”

Emily trembled more violently, and the color seemed to be draining from her. “Thank you for proposing an end to my misery,” she said carefully.

Though Corvo wanted to curse Delilah and refuse, he followed Emily’s lead; she certainly knew the current game better than he did at this point. He said nothing, opting to observe their interactions for a while before risking a response of his own.

“Do you have a counter proposal?” Delilah asked sweetly.

Emily was still more careful this time. “As much as I would enjoy making love to my father, I’ve always wished that I could have watched him making love to my mother. I’ve always wondered if they ever did it here, in the throne room.”

“Does it excite you to imagine that?” Delilah asked.

“Yes, Mother. More than anything, I would’ve loved to have seen the old empress take what was hers right here, on this very dais. Perhaps I would have found the idea of fucking my father here exciting before, when I was the empress, but it’s less appealing now. But Mother, as you are now the Empress of the Isles, you could fuck my father in my place.”

Corvo could immediately see Emily had struck the right note with Delilah.

“Yes,” Delilah mused. “Yes, I think you’re right, little Sparrow. After all, he _was_ good enough for the old empress, and Jessamine was no better than me! Disrobe for me, Corvo.”

Corvo clumsily removed his clothes, full of both dread and relief. As bad as this situation was, he was glad to see that Emily was still as smart and sane as she’d been a year ago. Perhaps more, even, out of necessity. He would gladly fuck Delilah if the alternative was Emily having to fuck either of them.

“Mother?” Emily asked meekly.

“Yes, Darling?”

“Could I please deliver your child while I watch you make love to my father?”

Delilah smiled. “Very well. You _have_ suffered for quite some time now, and it will take time for you to give birth even once I unseal you.”

With one last pat on Emily’s head, Delilah rose from the throne. She dipped a paintbrush in a jar of clear, almost-glowing liquid and then swept it over the painting of Emily. When she stepped back, the silver stitching had been removed. With another few swipes of her brush, she’d painted a grotesque image of an infant’s head crowning instead.

No sooner had she dropped her paintbrush back in a jar of water than Emily screamed in pain. Delilah swept back over to the throne to enjoy every second of Emily’s agony.

“Yes, wonderful,” she encouraged Emily. “Scream for me, my little broodmare. Scream and cry and bleed and tear, all while I fuck your father.”

Corvo had stripped fully naked by now. Delilah pounced on him like a wildcat, pushing his back up against the throne and straddling him without preamble. She pumped him with her hand until he was erect enough to enter her, then she sank down fully on him in one hard thrust. Corvo grunted. Delilah immediately rode him at a gallop, laughing wildly as she did.

Beside them, Emily was gasping and writhing. Corvo reached out blindly until he found her hand, and he squeezed it. She squeezed it back.

“Well, sister, who’s won now?” Delilah demanded of the banner. “Who has everything now, Jessamine?” 

Her laugh echoed through the throne room for a long time, broken only by the occasional soft cry from Emily. From the intensity with which she was squeezing Corvo’s hand, he suspected she didn’t have much time left until she delivered. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her biting her other hand to avoid crying out. Given how distracted and manic Delilah was just then, he thought she had the right idea. He sat as still and quiet as he could while she rode him, trying not to watch the vulgar way in which she masturbated herself while staring at Jessamine’s defaced portrait. Delilah didn’t even notice as Emily crawled as far from the throne as her chain would allow, so enraptured was she with her supposed victory.

Emily suddenly broke her silence with a shriek that was equal parts terrified and agonized. Delilah tore her eyes from Jessamine’s banner and stared at Emily, seeming to come back to herself.

“What is it, Dearest? Let me see,” she ordered.

Emily shook her head violently, straining and choking herself against her metal collar in a desperate bid to escape Delilah. Delilah scowled and clenched her fist. Emily’s own fists clung to the carpet, but Delilah’s dragged her back to the throne and turned Emily away, forcing her face to the floor.

“You know better than to disobey me,” she chided, spanking Emily’s bottom until it reddened. “What in the Void has gotten into you?”

As Delilah spanked Emily, the latter suddenly screamed again as Delilah and Corvo both got a clear view of the reason. The large, unmistakable scalp of an infant’s head bulged against her entrance, trying to escape. Emily swore and strained against the magic holding her in place.

“Oh, she’s nearly here!” Delilah clapped. She pulled Emily still closer, forcing her hips higher, and then—to Corvo’s bewildered arousal—licking around the baby’s head.

“Stop!” Emily cried. “Don’t touch me. Don’t fucking touch me!”

That only encouraged Delilah to go further. She bit Emily’s clit, rubbed her hands all over her stomach, and even forced fingers into her asshole.

“So tight,” Delilah marveled, twisting her pinky in Emily’s ass. “I can barely even get my little finger in!”

Emily screamed again. More of the head appeared, straining and stretching Emily’s passage, only to disappear again a moment later with the end of the contraction. Delilah rubbed herself frantically as she licked Emily’s brutally stretched pussy and the baby’s fuzzy head.

“I can’t do it,” Emily wept. “It’s so much, I can’t do it, I can’t do it, just make it stop, please—”

Corvo tentatively took her hand again. Emily gripped it harder than when she’d nearly slipped off the lighthouse. He couldn’t rub her back like he’d done for Jessamine, so he settled for stroking the back of her hand with his fingers.

“It’s going to be all right, Emily,” he soothed her. “You’ll get through this. Listen to your body and do what it wants you to.”

“I am!” Emily’s nails dug into him as she cried in fear. “My body is pushing it out all on its own, and it’s so much. It’s so fast. I don’t want to tear open.”

“You’re already tearing.” Delilah licked up the little trickle of blood that had been caused by the last stretch. “I could cut you instead, if you like.”

Emily wailed, first from fear, then from pain again as the next contraction pushed the baby’s head nearly past her resistance.

“Emily!” Corvo called. “Emily, listen to me! Everything will be all right, but you need to relax and calm down. Emily?”

She was nearly hysterical by now. Corvo sighed.

“We can heal any damage that happens,” Corvo tried again. “Emily, are you listening? I know you’re exhausted and afraid, but what you’re feeling now means you’re at the very end. Why not just get it over with so you can get some rest? Why prolong your suffering?”

“Shh, don’t listen to him, my Sparrow,” Delilah said. “I love watching you clench every muscle in fear. I needn’t have bothered stitching you closed in my painting!”

“This will be done faster and with less tearing if you relax and calm down,” Corvo told Emily.

“No, no, ignore him,” Delilah said. “It will be much more fun if you tense and cry.”

Their words seemed to finally work on Emily. She released Corvo’s hand, pushed herself up onto all fours, and took several deep breaths.

“Clear your mind,” Corvo instructed her, as if they were back on the training mats. “Don’t let anything distract you. You’ve done harder and scarier things than this. Just relax until your body pushes, then push with it.”

Emily’s body relaxed as she followed his instructions. Then, as another giant wave of tension spread from her stomach, she gripped the tattered carpet until her knuckles whitened. She blew out her breaths very slowly as she tried to push the baby out of her body. Finally, out popped one red-faced, black-haired head, squinting against the dim light.

“Oh!” Delilah seemingly forgot all about taunting Emily. “Oh, she’s beautiful! Feel her, Darling.”

She grabbed Emily’s hand and made her feel the child’s face and hair. Emily shuddered but said nothing.

“Isn’t she amazing?” Delilah asked.

Neither Corvo nor Emily answered. Emily raised her head higher, blowing out breaths in rhythmic puffs like a steam carriage. She groaned and tensed again, and more neck slipped out, then back in. Twice more it went without any reward to show for Emily’s effort. And then, on the fourth try, a shoulder.

“That’s it!” Delilah exclaimed. “Give her to me, Emily! Give her to me this instant!” 

She forced a hand inside Emily, finally causing the tearing Emily had mostly avoided to that point, and began pulling on the baby’s shoulder.

“Stop!” Corvo and Emily both shouted at once.

“She’s mine, and I’ll have her now!” Delilah retorted.

“You’ll hurt the child if you pull her like that,” Corvo warned. “You might even kill her.”

Delilah stopped, but not happily. As if to punish him, she redoubled her efforts riding him, as if determined to make him come while watching his daughter give birth. Beside them, Emily pushed and relaxed over and over again, often breathing hard, sometimes whimpering or swearing. Corvo, to his great shame, found himself approaching orgasm from the combination of Delilah’s persistence and Emily’s strength.

Finally, after so long Corvo was beginning to worry the child was truly stuck, Emily suddenly arched her back and gasped, “Oh no, catch it, catch it!”

Corvo just managed to get his hand under her in time to catch the infant as it slid out. Delilah came immediately at the sight, snatching the child from him even as she spasmed and cried out along with the baby. Corvo came too, but much more quietly.

While Delilah was lost in adoring her firstborn, Corvo slipped out from under her and crawled over to Emily. He grabbed his clothes as he did; he couldn’t quite bring himself to face her while completely naked, not when he had the choice not to be.

“You did it,” he whispered in her ear. “I’m so proud of you, Emily. I know that was terrifying, but you were so brave when it came down to it. Get some rest now.”

She had collapsed on her side and was shivering from chill, adrenaline, and exhaustion. Corvo draped his jacket over her and lay behind her to warm her. She seemed to doze off quickly, ignoring everything going on around her. Delilah likewise paid them no attention whatsoever, and that suited Corvo just fine. He draped his arm over Emily protectively, and to his surprise, she embraced it.

“I did want you back,” Emily whispered.

“What?”

“I only begged Delilah not to bring you back because I knew that was the only way she’d do it,” Emily said, almost imperceptibly. “I knew I had to wait until the right moment, or she wouldn’t believe me. But I did want you back.”

Corvo smiled and kissed her cheek. “That’s my girl,” he said. “I never doubted you. Try to rest.”

Delilah, meanwhile, was kissing all over the baby’s face and chest while it screamed. “We’ve won,” Delilah was singing to it. “We’ve won, we’ve won, we’ve won… Little one, you’ll soon stop crying, once you see what I’ve provided. We’ve won, oh, we’ve won, my lovely little one, we’ve won...”

Perhaps Delilah _had_ won. But if so, she'd only won the battle. As Corvo held Emily, still chained to her throne, he vowed that Delilah wouldn't win the war. He’d see Emily unshackled and sitting on her throne again, or he’d die trying.


End file.
